


Beatrice

by CaptainDog



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-07
Updated: 2011-12-07
Packaged: 2017-10-27 01:01:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/289846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptainDog/pseuds/CaptainDog
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John goes on holiday, can't get a certain detective out of his mind, and returns to find that said detective has missed him a bit.  So he decides to be a troll.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Beatrice

Sherlock hadn't seemed to care when John announced that he was going on holiday. He'd won the trip through some sort of radio sweepstakes quite by accident. John had even considered giving away his tickets. But then Sherlock had been especially infuriating, and he decided that a nice, relaxing week in the tropics was quite in order. Sherlock had only grunted from the sofa when John called to announce that he was on his way to the airport. He wasn't too bothered by this reaction. He shouted up the stairs that Sherlock had better eat while he was away before slamming the door.

The sun, sand, and water were refreshing. The trip was an all-expense-paid one, so John took advantage of the amenities the resort had to offer. It was situated on a small island that John never could quite pronounce. The service was wonderful and the weather was perfect. When he woke the first morning of his stay, he couldn't remember the last time he had slept so soundly. He spent the week lounging on the beach, snorkeling, and even tried deep-sea fishing. He avoided the club, full of much younger people dancing, drinking, and trying their hardest to score. He didn't want to have to worry about any other people while he treated himself to lazy afternoons basking and drinking pineapple juice.

It was the third day when the chime on John's mobile went off. He didn't check it at first; he was in the middle of reading a brochure about an old Spanish fort on the island that he wanted to tour later. He had a shrewd idea of who had contacted him. He wasn't disappointed when he put the glossy paper down.

 _Baker Street. Come back early. I need to use your phone. - SH_   


John laughed and ignored the text. Maybe he'd reply tomorrow. He phoned the concierge about a tour of the Spanish fort. He wasn't surprised when he received more texts throughout the day, though he'd switched his mobile off and read them just before turning in.

 _Mrs. Hudson hopes that you're having a lovely time. I don't. - SH_

 _Where do we keep the laundry detergent? - SH_

 _Check the personal memos on his desk. He can't have killed her because he was planning on proposing to her and hadn't even bought the ring yet– SH_

 _Ignore that last text, John. Someone kicked me and I sent it to you instead of Dimmock. - SH_

 _I'm perfectly fine. No need to worry about who kicked me. I kicked him back and now he's in hospital – SH_

 _Is there anything interesting going on over there? Dull here. - SH_

 _I know you're ignoring me and probably having a relaxing time, but please respond in the morning. I still need the laundry detergent – SH_

John fell asleep with a grin on his face. He replied in the morning.

 _Missing me already? Ask Mrs. Hudson for laundry detergent. Tell her I'm having a wonderful time. Yesterday I toured an old Spanish fort. Think you'd have liked the weapons on display. Today I'm swimming with dolphins._

Sherlock's reply came before he had a chance to switch off his mobile several minutes later.

 _While the weapons sound intriguing, dolphins sound dull. What's to be gained? - SH_

John didn't respond. He went and had a nice time feeding fish to the dolphins and letting them push him up and out of the water. He pretended that he wasn't thinking about Sherlock the entire time. He treated himself to an upscale Italian place a few blocks from the resort. He pretended that it was better than Angelo's. He made an oath not to text Sherlock back for the rest of his time here.

John made good on his oath, but a fat lot of good that did. He hadn't wanted to tempt his brain into thinking about the insufferable flatmate, but apparently he didn't need cryptic texts to let his mind wander. He even stopped in the club the night before he was to return to London, hoping to find a pretty young thing to distract him.

John had expected to find Sherlock lounging in the flat, chasing criminals, or doing horrible things in the kitchen with laundry detergent. Sherlock had opted for choice number one, but John would never know that. He'd heard the cab stop in front of 221b and had leapt up the moment he heard John's footsteps on the pavement.

John pushed open the door to the flat and barely had time to hang his coat up and set down his bags when he was thrust against the door by a large black and white thing with a perfect mess of curly hair. Sherlock grabbed his shoulders and stared at John.

“Er, hello. Miss me?” he said, giving Sherlock a confused smile.

“You didn't answer my texts.”

“Well, I didn't think you'd care to hear about swimming with dolphins, and you'd stopped asking for laundry detergent.”

Sherlock released him and took the smaller of John's two bags. He started up the stairs. John hesitated, wondering what was going on. Carrying his things was uncharacteristically considerate of Sherlock. And he'd seemed so...concerned?...when John had arrived back. Like Sherlock was worried that something had happened to him. He followed his flatmate up. As he stole a quick glance at his backside, he decided to conduct his own little experiment.

“Have you been eating while I was gone?”

“Of course. There hasn't been much _else_ to do.” Sherlock spat the words out.

“What about that text you meant to send Dimmock?”

“Three hour case. Wouldn't have even had that, if Dimmock weren't so unsure of himself. He's a bit spoilt with me around, I think.” John snorted and set his suitcase next to the stairs. He wanted – or pretended to want – a cup of tea before unpacking. He was a bit nervous about entering the kitchen, but found it much the way he had left it. The only real difference was the clean soapy smell that hung in the air. He went to the kettle. Sherlock, no longer holding his carry-on, watched him.

“How was your holiday, since you seem to want me to ask?” John didn't bother wondering how Sherlock had worked that out. It was probably to do with his posture.

“She was great.” he said as casually as he could. He'd taken a risk, using the same slip of the tongue as he had when he'd gotten a job at the surgery. “Very relaxing.”

“She?”

“Did I say she? I mean 'it'”. He turned around to find Sherlock standing much closer. John wondered if it hurt to stare at someone with such intensity.

“Who's 'she'?” Sherlock growled. John shrugged.

“I dunno, I met a girl on the island.” He turned to the cupboard. “Tea?” He pulled out two teabags, even though Sherlock didn't answer. John felt a happy stir in his gut and only a little bit of guilt because of it.

“I had fun swimming with the dolphins. They're quite intelli-”

“Tell me about this girl. When did you meet her?” John paused, as if trying to remember.

“Well, I'd seen her around the whole week, but nothing happened until two nights ago. We talked in the club.”

“What happened?” John sat down. “Why do you want to know?”

“Just curious. I want to see if my deductions were correct.”

“What deductions?”

“Tell me, and then I'll tell you.”

“Fair enough.” John cleared his throat and began to talk. “As I said, I'd seen her around all week, so I decided that I'd see if I could talk to her before I left. I bought her a drink at the bar. She seemed really nice. Quite intelligent, too.” He risked a glance at Sherlock's face. He was still staring, but his expression was unreadable. He made a soft noise when John didn't continue. John took a breath before resuming his story.

“We danced a bit, but dancing isn't really my thing, so we ended up just talking and drinking. We were getting on really well, so I thought I might have a chance to invite her back to my room. I was just about to suggest it when we got interrupted. This huge bloke came up and started harassing her. I mean, she was really good-looking, so he obviously wanted to get some, but she wasn't having any of it.” Sherlock clasped his hands together and regarded John's words.

“You defended her honour.” It wasn't a question.

“Well, yeah, I suppose. I didn't think of it that way. I just wanted him to leave her alone, but he didn't take too kindly to it.”

“You haven't got any wounds on you.”

“I've got a couple bruises here and there. They don't hurt too much. I did a lot of dodging. But we sort of got kicked out. Beatrice, that's the girl's name, she followed me out to see if I was all right. But the huge bloke was right there, and he was still really fucked off. It's sort of silly, but me and Beatrice-”

“Beatrice and I.”

“Yeah, Beatrice and I ran back to the hotel. He chased us all the way to the lift. He wasn't very fast, but Beatrice was wearing heels, so we only just made it.” John laughed a bit to himself. “I probably thought it was more fun than I should have. And then we went up to my room.” John concluded.

“And then?”

“What do you mean, 'and then'?”

“Well, what happened next? You arrived at your room and then what?” John gave Sherlock a disbelieving look.

“You seriously can't deduce that? In all your genius, you can't figure out what two adrenaline-high people who'd been flirting all night did when they arrived in a hotel room?” Sherlock ignored this and asked another question.

“What was she like, this Beatrice?”

“Er, she was really, well, hot. Sort of tallish, but that might have been the heels. Pale, long dark hair. She must have been really liberal with the sunscreen, because she had no tan whatsoever.”

“You said she was intelligent.”

“Well, yeah. I mentioned that I was a doctor, and she asked me all sorts of questions about my practice. Good ones, not just the usual about my salary. Said she'd nearly gone to nursing school.”

“Did she say why she didn't?”

“Said the coursework looked boring, actually. She went for something more exciting. She's a freelance journalist. Likes to travel.” Sherlock huffed a little. John couldn't tell what that meant.

“Now answer my question. What happened next?” Sherlock stood and came around the table. John tensed a bit as he drew nearer, but he only reached over to get the kettle and make the tea that John had forgotten about. John muttered a thanks.

“Um, well. We, er...” He took a breath. This was Sherlock, so he might as well be blunt. “We had sex.” Sherlock froze, mug in hand. He slowly set it down on the table.

“You know, John,” he said slowly. John tensed again at his dangerous tone. “you're a good liar when you really want to be, but not that good.”

“Wh-what do you mean?”

“You didn't have sex with this 'Beatrice'. In fact I doubt if she even exists.” He lowered his face to look John in the eyes. John wished he could tell what Sherlock was thinking. Was he angry? He scrambled to salvage his lie, but knew that it was hopeless. He sighed and confessed.

“All right, all right. I didn't have sex. There was a girl though. I didn't get her name.”

“A girl fitting the description you gave me, you mean.”

“Yeah.” John scooted back a little in his chair. The conversation, already uncomfortable, was getting worse due to Sherlock's proximity. He seemed to be leaning in towards John's face.

“Did you talk to her?”

“Not really. I just heard her talk to the bartender. She told him that his workspace was crawling with bacteria, all of which she could name.” John was really flirting with disaster now. It was pretty obvious how similar this girl was to his flatmate. This could be taken in quite the wrong direction. John wasn't sure if there was a right direction.

“Why Beatrice?”

“First name I could think of.”

“Why didn't you chat her up? Could have worked.”

“Because the minute she spoke, I knew she was unattainable.”

“Being familiar with bacteria doesn't make one completely uninterested, John. I'm sure she'd have agreed to accompany you back to your room.”

“Yeah? And what makes you so sure?” John could have kicked himself for speaking. Sherlock couldn't possibly mean what certain parts of John hoped he meant. He braced himself.

“Because she clearly reminded you of me, you regard me as unattainable, and I would be perfectly willing to accompany you to your room.” Sherlock straightened up and held out his hand. John stared at it, and then at Sherlock's face.

“Come on, then. I haven't properly welcomed you back yet.” John tentatively placed his hand in Sherlock's. He'd wake up in a moment on the plane with a packet of peanuts and a stewardess asking if he'd like some coffee. Sherlock pulled him to his feet and dragged him around the table. Their tea sat forgotten.

“We'd better get out of here, that big man doesn't look happy with you.” Sherlock whispered as they neared the stairs. Role-play? John couldn't help but smile.

“We'd better run now, hadn't we?” Sherlock grinned at him and nodded. They thundered up the stairs and panted at the door to John's room.

“You never told me what came next, John. Tell me all about what you and Beatrice did.” John gasped, both from the sudden running and what Sherlock had said.

“First,” John said, taking hold of Sherlock's shoulders. “I pushed her up against the door,” He did so to Sherlock. “and did this.” He stood on tiptoe to reach his lips. Sherlock responded beautifully, leaning down and opening his mouth to John's tongue. John weaved his fingers through Sherlock's hair. Sherlock grabbed at John's hips.

“Yes. Just like that.” John murmured in between soft kisses to the edges of Sherlock's mouth. “We fumbled into the room.” He felt Sherlock stick out a hand and grope for the doorknob. He pulled John back with the inward-swinging door. John kicked it shut. Mrs. Hudson didn't need to hear any more than she already had.

“Then what?”

“Clothes. Gone.” John didn't want to bother with words right now. Sherlock reached up to unbutton his shirt, but John's hand stopped him.

“No, I did that. Here.” He pulled Sherlock towards the bed. Sherlock's knees gave and he sat, but John continued to push him down. He pulled his legs up and lay on top of the sheets for John to survey. John noticed something.  
“My bed was made when I left. Bit disheveled now, isn't it?” The was indeed an area of rumpled bedding towards the middle, and a pillow had a definite head-shaped crease in it. Sherlock merely whispered “I missed you.” John smiled and bent to undress the other man. He grinned wider when Sherlock gasped at the sudden brush of air against his naked abdomen. He arched his back upwards at John's touch.

“Yes, just like that. Perfect.” He reached down and got to work on his trousers. Sherlock was semi-hard now, pressing wonderfully against his underwear. John took his time to tease around the elastic before removing them. He leant forward and placed a chaste kiss on Sherlock's forehead.

“She helped me with mine.” Sherlock sat up and pulled at John's collar. John straddled his legs now. They couldn't quite get their lips together, but they made a valiant, if not messy, effort while tugging at buttons and a zip. John sat back so that Sherlock could pull his jeans and underwear off.

“John.” Sherlock groaned. John chuckled. “Yeah, and then she talked dirty. God, I love her voice.” Sherlock made a rumbling sound and spoke.

“John, you're so good, so big, you've no idea. I want you, I want you _inside_ me...” He bent down and cupped John's erection in his long fingers. He brought himself down to stare at John's hard cock, evidently fascinated.

“Oh god, John, I want you so badly. I need you.”

“Sherlock?” The other man's lips quirked up in a wry smile. “Thought I was Beatrice.”

“Very funny, Sherlock. I just need to know...” John struggled for the words.

“You want to make sure that I actually want you, and it's not just part of the role play.”

“Well, yes.”

“I assure you that everything I've said is genuine, if not spoken in a manner I would not normally adopt.”

“Even-”

“Yes, John. I do indeed want you inside of me. May we carry on?” John smiled. “'Course.” He put his arms around Sherlock's neck and kissed him deeply. Sherlock's hands traveled down his body until they reached his hipbones. John bucked a little against him and their cocks brushed together in an unexpected burst of pleasure.

“I can't wait, John.” He let himself be pushed back down and John clambered over him. His neck was stretched out, inviting, so John placed his lips there, breathing hot little bursts onto the white skin.

“Do you know why I didn't chat up that girl?” he asked as he moved downwards.

“Unattainable.” Sherlock barely got the word out through his gasp; John had stroked the hard nub of his nipple with his tongue. John smiled up at him before continuing his teasing, speaking in between licks and bites.

“That was part of it, but not the real reason.”

“What, pray tell, was the real reason?”

“She reminded me of you, but not completely. I saw her and I thought of you, and I thought maybe getting with her would be as close as I'd ever get to you. But when I had my chance I realised that she'd never be enough. She wasn't you, and I'd rather have all or nothing.” Hands appeared and stopped the movement of John's head. He jumped a little, startled.

“Sherlock?” Damn, he'd said something wrong, hadn't he? He looked up at the detective's face, rigid with an intensity that usually appeared right before he made a stunning deduction.

“I can't wait, John. You have it all, so you'd better take it. Now.” Sherlock writhed under him, his thighs parting. John only gave himself a moment to be taken aback before leaning over to reach at his bedside table. It didn't take him long to dig out the necessary items.

“Keep those in there just in case, do you?”

“I like to be prepared, thank you very much.”

“You're quite welcome.” Sherlock's smile might have made the Grinch nervous, and it certainly sent a thrill down John's spine. He pulled the condom out of its packet and did the honours for John.

“Have you-”

“I'm not a virgin, though I'll admit that my experience is rather limited. I'm quite a fast learner, however.”

He tilted his hips so that John could have better access. John slid his hands down almost reverently, feeling beneath his testicles and along his perineum. He rubbed lightly before pressing in a little. Sherlock gave a strangled cry and arched his back.

“Not good?” John asked.

“Definitely better than good.” he moaned. John picked up the bottle and squeezed a dollop of lubricant out. Sherlock shuddered at the slight chill of John's lubed fingers, but made no indication that he wanted him to stop. John pushed one finger in, and then added a second. He moved carefully in and out and back in again, twisting slightly to brush Sherlock's prostate.

“Fuck, John, hurry it up!” he growled.

“I just don't want you to get hurt.”

“I won't, just _hurry._ ” He wasn't begging, he was demanding. John added a third finger to see how much teasing he could get away with. Sherlock had been wrong; he wasn't quite ready yet. He cried out and tensed violently at the introduction of the third finger. 

“Relax, will you?” John said very gently. Sherlock seemed to be concentrating on his breathing. He huffed, but the ring of muscle around John's fingers widened again.

“Just a little more...” He moved his hand with great care. He smiled when Sherlock regained his impatience and wriggled.

“Surely now-”

“Yes, alright.” John slowly pulled his hand away. He squeezed out some more lube and rubbed it along his shaft. He positioned himself at Sherlock's entrance and pushed inwards.

The two gasped in unison as John sank several inches in.

“Oh fuck, Sherlock, you are-”

“John, the idea here isn't conversation. Are you going to _move_?” John tried his best to send Sherlock a wolfish grin, but failed due to the rush of sensations. He slowly pushed his hips forward until he was completely buried in Sherlock.

“All right?” he asked.

“Fucking move, John. I'm not going to break.”

Sherlock grunted as John complied. He started with slow draws in and out, but Sherlock wrapped his hands around his arse, pushing him in further.

“Uuunnnggghhhharder...”he moaned. The sound of his voice alone was enough to drive John to increase his speed and force.

“Uuooh goddd!” he half-groaned, half-whispered. Sherlock dropped his hands from John's arse and clutched at the sheets beneath him, stifling several no doubt undignified noises. John noticed.

“L-let me hear you. Let it out.” he sighed. He was rewarded by a stream of loud curses intermingled with his own name. Oh god, Sherlock's _voice_. It was enough to send John right over the edge.

“Fffffuck, Sherlock I'm-”

“Yes, John, yesyes me too, oh god yes John!” Sherlock came first, his hips jerking and his back arching. His hole tightened around John and it pulled John along into the mutual orgasm.

After several moments of blinding sensation, John carefully slid out of Sherlock and rolled to lie next to him. He opened his mouth, feeling the need to speak. Sherlock beat him to it.

“Maybe you should go on holiday more often, if this is what happens when you come home.” John chuckled.

“I'm not going on holiday without you. Far too boring.”

“Were you really bored? I got the impression that you had a good time.”

“Yeah, feeding dolphins. Nice, but not exactly chasing a serial killer across London, is it?”

“Not exactly a good shag, either.” noted Sherlock. John grinned and leaned over to place a kiss on his forehead.

“No indeed. C'mon, let's get cleaned up.”

After they'd cleaned up their mess, Sherlock and John fell asleep in each other's arms. John was sure he heard a repeated “I missed you” before he drifted off.


End file.
